Of Wizards and Dovah
by Ockermuller
Summary: Set in the world of 'The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim'. Dean is Dovahkiin - the Dragonborn - said to be destined to kill the dragon Alduin, the World Eater. Castiel is the cute wizard Dean would very much like to have as an ally on his quest.


**Title: **Of Wizards and _Dovah_

**For the DeanCasBigBang, on LiveJournal!**

**Beta:** The amazing Kodamasama!

**Pairings: **Dean/Castiel.

**Genre:** AU, Adventure, Romance.

**Rating:** NC-17

**Disclaimer:** These characters do not belong to me. Skyrim does not belong to me. I am making no profit from this fanfiction.

**Warnings:** Sexy times. I changed a few things about the games mechanics and plot. I don't believe there are any unforgivable inaccuracies, but if so, I'm sorry!

It may seem like there are dominance/submission elements, but there aren't really.

**Spoilers:** No spoilers for the ending of Skyrim.

**Summary**: Set in the world of 'The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim'. Dean is _Dovahkiin_ - the Dragonborn - said to be destined to kill the dragon Alduin, the World Eater. Castiel is the cute wizard Dean would very much like to have as an ally on his quest.

*º*º*

_This is the result of spending an entire vacation playing Skyrim and reading A Song of Ice and Fire, and then remembering you had a mini-bang story to write…_

*º* º*

_Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.  
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.  
With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art.  
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.  
It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes.  
Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.  
For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows.  
You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborn's come._

*º* º*

The innkeeper had called the place 'Forsaken Cave'. "Crawling with trolls and Draugr, that hole is," the man had said. "I'd warn you away from it, but a man like you wouldn't even listen, would you? Aye, I know your lot, with your heavy armor and your sellswords. You'd still go even if I told you there were them dragons inside."

The man had been right. The cave is dark and wet, its entrance frozen like most caves in Skyrim. There is gold to be had in the burial urns, and his follower finds a silver emerald necklace with a most peculiar glow that is certain to interest Sam for a few hours. He allows his follower to carry the steel plate armor they find inside a chest. Ghorbash the Iron Hand, his kin call him, and he seems grateful to be permitted the armor.

The necklace he also offers, but the orc mistrusts its queer glow. Dean doesn't particularly care this time. He has come for a far greater reason than gold and magic trinkets.

"Stay close to the wall," Dean whispers as they make their ascent. The Orsimer kind aren't known for any particularly brilliant stealth abilities, but his companion does as he's told after suspiciously eyeing the obvious trap in the middle of the stairs.

Once they reach the large room, Dean can immediately see the Wall he has been searching for… and the dark, large tomb that rests between him and his prize.

"That's the tomb of Curalmil," he whispers, remembering all manner of horrible things the book claimed this one had done. It is known the undead were once dragon servants, betrayers of humankind and doomed to guard crypts and dungeons. The ones named 'Overlords' are particularly nasty. "If we sneak past him, might be he won't wake up."

His axe touches the ground with a dull sound as the orc kneels beside him. "I say we kill this dead overlord now before he kills us with our backs turned."

Dean rolls his eyes. "And I say I paid you 500 coins to shut up and follow my lead."

Quietly they walk around the tomb to reach the Wall. Dean tries not to think on the Draugr that are probably resting on the shadows behind him, unaware of intruders in their crypts. For now.

The Wall is both beautiful and somehow terrifying lighted by their torch. Dean traces a finger on the carvings and imagines he can see a particular word standing out from the rest. When he stares at it he hears its sound in his head – _Aus_, and its meaning – 'suffer'.

The orc knows who Dean is, _what_ he is, and stays by his side as Dean reads from the markings. He needs someone to watch his back whilst he does this. The dead can walk at any moment, and Dean will be exposed if it happens now.

"How can markings make you stronger?"

"These markings hold power." And Dean can feel it flowing into him.

"Sorcery." The orc spits on the floor to show just what magic means to him. Some orcs don't respect 'men with thin arms and no battle skill' – which is a very accurate description of wizards everywhere.

He tells the orc to check the chest by their left. Silence doesn't hurt, especially if one is keeping an ear out for enemies creeping behind them.

All too soon it is over, and Dean is as eager to leave as he was to enter. "The chest?"

"Some coin and armor," the orc tells him. "And this."

Ghorbash hands him an old book, its pages so fragile Dean has to hold it carefully or it might just crumble. Its blue cover features an eye in a circle with what could be a depiction of sun beams. The pages inside have drawings, sketches – the texts are written in gibberish…

Dean suddenly knows what he's holding. _Shalidor's Insights._

He almost drops the book in astonishment. "My good fellow, do you know what we have in hands?"

The orc spits on the floor again, though this second time is not as dramatic. "More sorcery."

To leave they pass by the tomb again. Dean presses his side to the wall when they reach the stairs. Ghorbash doesn't.

The orc escapes the axe coming down from the ceiling by an inch.

Followers.

Are.

So.

Fucking.

_Stupid_.

"You-" Dean groans as he tries his best not to punch the orc. "I said _stay close _to thewalls!"

"I forgot about the trap-"

There is a scream behind them, mind shattering and _terrifying_. Dean can feel his insides trying to regurgitate the meat he had earlier.

_"In days of old, when dragons ruled the earth, there lived mortal men who worshipped the beasts as gods," his father used to read to him. "Traitors they were, for they ruled over man and obeyed the dragons in exchange for powers."  
_

Old bones dressed in a purple mantle floated above the ground, a silver crown upon the skull.

Curalmil is no Overlord.

"Dragon Priest-" Dean takes a step back and almost falls down the stairs. "Run!"

"No, we fight!" The orc already has his axe in position whilst Curalmil awakens his Draugr by screaming in some guttural language long forgotten.

"We have what we came for; let's go!" He tries to pull the orc by his arm, but it's the same as trying to move a castle with his bare hands.

Curalmil Shouts. An invisible force Dean knows all too well comes from within his mouth and hits the orc full on the chest, sending him rolling down the stairs like he weighs no more than a child.

Dean doesn't even know what to do. "You fucking-"

Of course he fought. He was an Orsimer, and Orcs do not turn their back to their foes. Dean feels a fool for bringing him here, expecting him to obey and flee if it came to that.

Dean remembers the word for fire and Shouts, setting two Draugr afire before he runs for his life. He can hear - and _feel_ -the Dragon Priest following him but tries not to panic - more than he already has. By the time Curalmil's powers recharge, Dean will be out of range of his Shouts.

The corridor leads him back to a room full of shadows and dark corners. He hides behind the door, unsheathes his sword, and tries to slow down his pounding heart. In the darkness he can hear Curalmil approaching, his voice like an animal's, howling and groaning and growling.

Dean remembers the times in his childhood when he'd hide behind a door and wait for his brother to come in. He'd jump right behind him and yell, "I'll eat you, human!"

_Sam. My brother is waiting for me._

_Fuck_! Sam. Sam. If he died, Sam would come looking for him. And would find a Dragon Priest instead.

There is still time to run, he knows... But he can't leave. Someone had died for him, and now Dean needs to kill the bastard who did it.

Curalmil slides into the room, and even the shadows seem to try to get away from him. _Move your feet, Dean, come on!_

The undead Priest looks around the room but is too slow for the speed of a desperate, living man.

_A man who doesn't fear is a dead one, son._

*º*º*

To his brother he writes, "_In Windhelm, everything okay. Wall was there. Curalmil a Priest, not Overlord. Found a book. On my way to Winterhold._"

To the Arch-Mage he pays a scholar to write for him. Sam taught him how to write but not how to make the beautiful handwriting that would convince someone he is 28, not seven.

To _Dushnikh Yal_, the Orc stronghold, he sends Ghorbash's body and sword and a promise he died fighting a worthy foe. The Orsimer never cared much if one of their own died as long as it was an honorable death.

As Ghorbash's wagon rides south, Dean goes north. Five days and four nights he rides, stopping only for his horse to rest or for a storm to pass, until Winterhold comes into view.

Legend has it that, during the First Era, Archmage Shalidor built Winterhold with a whispered spell. Once a major city, Winterhold is now worthy of the pity one might feel upon encountering a dying dog on a road.

Eighty years ago storms lashed out at the northern coast of Skyrim, causing almost all of the city to be washed away into the Sea of Ghosts.

Amazingly, the Mage's College just north of the city was unharmed.

The scholars said the storms were a consequence of a geographic something or other that happened in another province called Morrowind, near Skyrim.

Everyone else said 'sorcery'.

Only a handful of houses remained, counting the inn and the Jarl's Longhouse. North, closer to the sea, a stone bridge leads to the Mage's College of Winterhold, a castle that remains firm on a freestanding spire of rock.

"Them in the College don't have stables," an old man taking snow from the inn's doorsteps with a shovel informs him. "You gotta leave your horse here in the village before you go."

Dean is taken aback. "How did you know I'm visiting the College?"

The old man stares at him like he just asked if there is snow in Skyrim. "Why else kind of reason woul' someone come here for?"

After a second look around, Dean agrees. He's climbing down from his horse when a dragon's cry shakes the ground.

"Dragon!" he yells and is pleasantly surprised when the guards promptly come out from the Jarl's house and are already alert with crossbows in position. _This must happen often_.

The old man continues to clear away the snow. "Sir, it's a Dragon!"

"Aye, that it is," he agrees.

Dean is not sure what to do with this reaction. In any other place people would be running for their lives. "… Hide?"

Leaning on his shovel, the old man gestures to the inn behind him. "Hide where, boy?"

Winterhold's houses – all five of them - are wooden and feeble looking. The College's castle look strong enough, but it would be impossible to get the villagers in there before the dragon landed.

"Go inside," he decides – which is at least better than staying out in the open. The old man puts down the shovel and calmly guides Dean's horse behind the inn.

The white and blue dragon lands atop the inn's roof and opens its mouth to Shout at him, but Dean is already halfway through his own Shout. A blast of fire hits the dragon's right wing. It must be extremely painful since it screams and clumsily takes flight again.

"It's a frost dragon; use fire!" he yells to the guards.

"They're always frost dragons," one of them points out as they discharge flaming arrows.

Dean suddenly feels heat materializing beside his left arm. There, made purely of fire, humanoid in form and floating above the ground, a Flame Atronach stands, conjured by someone he cannot see.

Dean searches for its owner, but all the guards have their hands busy with crossbows, and no one else is in sight.

The dragon lands with the grace of a meteorite on the snowy path outside the village this time, and the Atronach doesn't waste any time in launching firebolts at it. A second Atronach appears and starts circling around the dragon, taking its attention away from the men.

The guards cease firing arrows and just stand watching. "What are you doing?" If his voice sounds outraged, Dean can't bring himself to care.

One of them just shrugs. "It'll be over soon."

And he's right. The frost dragon desperately tries to bite at the conjured entities, spreading snow and ice everywhere, but their combined fire is too powerful and the dragon's wing too damaged for it to fly again. A few more minutes are all it takes the pair to make the dragon cry its last before collapsing on the snow.

Whatever magic had created flesh around old bones and held the soul inside was destroyed. Its hard white-and-blue skin melts away as the dragon carcass burns from the inside out, leaving only bones behind.

And the soul comes to Dean. It always does. Without running – he tried once, it followed him – and without hiding – he tried that too, and Sam just laughed at him – Dean stands still as his body absorbs the soul of the creature that just now tried to kill him.

Taking a new dragon soul makes him feel powerful for a few minutes. Afterwards, everything is back to normal, and Dean is just hungry.

_Any day of the week, let me tell you…_

Of course, the guards are staring at him with different degrees of shock.

"He's real," one of them whispers too loudly to their friend.

"He took its very soul-"

"Well… " The old man from before had come back to watch the final part. "If that's all."

Dean looks around for the supernatural fire entities, but they're gone. He had never seen a Flame Atronach – let alone two - so powerful as to bring down a dragon almost by themselves.

"Who shall I thank for the help?" Dean asks a female guard.

She nods in the general direction of the College. "That would be one of those damned mages."

*º*º*

By the time Dean makes sure the townsfolk and his horse are alright, the sky is darker, and snow begins to fall. Skyrim is infamous for its cold weather and snow-covered lands, but this particular region seems to be especially awful to Dean. Cold creeps inside his clothes every time that first snowflake lands on his nose.

If the man standing on the bridge feels cold also, he doesn't show it.

They must be the same age. His face is handsome and his skin worryingly white – which is no surprise, since there is barely any sun at all during the day in these northeast parts. He waits stoically for Dean to reach him, clad in thick fur boots and faded dark blue robes – robes worn only by those who practice the arcane arts.

Little bits of snow have fallen on his short, dark hair, and Dean's eyes pause and stare at them for some reason. He's aware he's supposed to be saying something... He's just not sure what it is.

The man doesn't call him out on his lack of courtesy, however.

"Welcome, sire." He politely bows his head. "I trust our frozen land was not too hard on you?"

"No, snow falls all over Skyrim. The real torment is your local fauna," Dean smoothly picks up the cue. "My name is Dean-"

"I know who you are, sir. Arch-Mage Savos Aren has been expecting you."

The man turns around and starts walking, trusting him to follow. The narrow bridge stands on a precipice, to Dean's discomfort. Parts of it are destroyed or look like they're about to fall any moment now, but the mage walks with ease.

_By Talos, it's even colder up here!_

"And what is your name?"

His host stops and turns around. He eyes Dean with confusion, as if not expecting to be asked for his name. "Castiel, if it pleases my lord."

Dean snorts. "I'm no lord."

The mage Castiel nods and resumes walking. There is probably a great view of the frozen coast if only the snow would allow for it to be seen. Dean could feel the stone floor getting a little slippery.

He gulps, trying to find something to take his mind away from the _huge open area_ right below him. "There was two-" Dean clears his throat, reminding himself. "There _were_ two Atronach fighting that dragon."

"Indeed," Castiel agrees.

"Yours."

"Yes."

"Was there another mage with you?"

"No." He offers nothing else. Dean doesn't really believe the mage to be cold and antisocial, despite his silence. His tone is light and his politeness genuine. Perhaps he really has nothing to add.

"That's a very long distance to conjure an atronach," Dean presses. It's hard to believe a single person can create two entities at the same time. "Are you a master of the Conjuration school?"

Castiel shrugs. "Not really, no."

He makes no inclination to continue the conversation. _Very well, then. That's that._

They finally arrive at the gate – which opens up by itself, to Dean's surprise. "Neat trick." The courtyard has a really weird pool thing emanating purple energy – Dean doesn't even want to know – and a statue of a wizard practicing his arcane craft. Castiel leads him through the courtyard and into a place called 'Hall of the Elements'. The eye in the circle can be found _everywhere_, and Dean has not even seen half the College yet.

By the light of a torch, Castiel's eyes seem blue instead of black, as Dean had first thought. "The Arch-Mage will see you right away," he says, gesturing to a heavy door.

"Actually, I had a mind to see your librarian first. I bring something I hope he can translate."

Castiel points to a different door. "I'll inform the Arch-Mage you'll be with him shortly."

The mage turns away, and Dean wants to find something to say so they won't part so abruptly.

"Ah, hm, thank you for the help," he says more loudly than necessary, considering his host is still in front of him. Castiel looks perplexed again, like he's trying to puzzle out what the hell weird thing this is now. "You know, the Atronachs. And bringing me here, and, and everything, yes, excuse me."

_It's the cold_, he tells himself as he enters the library, _it's finally doing things to your head._

The cold and the fact that he can't remember the last time he had an orgasm.

*º*º*

At first sight, the librarian is nothing like a librarian ought to be.

Urag gro-Shub is the very first orc Dean has seen who chose ink and paper instead of steel. "You are now in the Arcanaeum, of which I am in charge," he tells Dean, not even bothering looking up from his book.

"It's nice to make your acquaintance, sir." Dean tries for polite, even though his tone comes out uncertain. "I bring you-"

"I know what you want." The orc huffs. _At least he's not spitting._ "Word travels fast around here. Discovered some big mystery, huh?"

Urag's mocking expression changes when Dean puts the book in front of him. Comprehension dawns on the orc as he begins turning the pages. "I'll start translating it right away. Shouldn't take me more than a few days."

"That is good to hear."

The orc gets up to acknowledge him. "You did well bringing it here."

Dean nods, pleased with himself. "Well, you see, I knew right away-"

"Is that _water_ on my Arcanaeum floor?"

Looking down, Dean realizes there is water dripping from his hemline, forming a small puddle at his feet. He had been leaving water prints since he entered the library. "I fought a dragon outside Winterhold, and my clothes got wet with snow-"

"I don't care if you fought Alduin himself." Urag steps forward to tower over Dean. His deep, hard voice only helps him look bigger. "Disrupt my Arcanaeum, and we will have words."

"Forgive me if I have offended you-"

"_Offended_ me? Take a good look around, young man. Some of these are powerful magic books in languages only a handful of people still understand. Hundreds of years have gone into assembling this collection. It's going to stay pristine, understand?"

Dean really doesn't know what's in the water of this place that makes everyone so weird. He feels very wet and uncomfortable whilst he enters the room Castiel said to be the Arch-Mage's quarters. A very easy character to recognize, the Arch-Mage, with his fine grey robes with bits of white details.

"Sir." Dean bows his head with a smile. "Thank you for having me."

Savos Aren is a Dunmer – Dark Elves, as some would call them. There is something unsettling about his reddish eyes, Dean notices right away. They look too sharp and clever and can see right through him.

"Thank _you_ for bringing such a document to us." The elf makes a bow of his own. "This is Ancano, my advisor."

Ancano smells of jerk. And not because he is Altmer - the High Elves from the Summerset Isle. Dean has met too many good Altmer refugees to judge someone based solely on the province they come from.

It's because of his Thalmor robes. Thalmor, the governmental representation of the Second Aldmeri Dominion. Thalmor, the elven supremacist _assholes_ who told his family they couldn't pray to their god anymore. Thalmor, with eyes and ears everywhere, passing out judgment on Nords like they are law.

"It's a pleasure," Dean manages to say between grinding teeth.

"Likewise." Ancano smiles around his cup of wine, and Dean _does not like this._ "It is an honor to have a man of your… position visiting the College."

Dean almost bursts out laughing. What an all-_so_-subtle way of saying, 'I know who you are, I do, I do, I totally do!' without jumping up and down singing.

Ancano. The name itself invites douchebaggery.

The Arch-Mage leads them to a table in his spacious quarters. To Dean's delight – and he's not sure why he's delighted - the polite young mage from before is standing by the door. "Castiel, be so kind as to bring us mead and bread and some cheese."

Castiel leaves, and this time Dean knows better than just blurting something out.

They spend a few minutes talking about the college, the decoration, the size of the Arcanaeum, before the young mage comes back with their food. Dean smiles at him when Castiel serves him the wine, but his eyes are downcast the entire time and never meet his own.

Ancano opens his mouth, and Dean steels himself. "With so many dragons out there, it's a surprise you can find the time to come all the way to Winterhold for a visit."

_Aye, nice try_. Dean wants to roll his eyes. _Fishing for information to feed your superiors, hm?_

"It's hardly a social visit." He smiles with malice, the way Sam once said made him look a little dangerous. "Shalidor's work is amazing and deserves to be read by those seeking knowledge."

"Shalidor?" Castiel almost spills the wine. "You found Shalidor's manuscripts?"

The mage is looking directly at him for once, and Dean decides to try that first smile again. "A few. Big admirer, are you?"

Castiel looks away as if just realizing his eyes had left the floor. His tone is excited, however. "Arch-Mage Shalidor was the greatest wizard of the First Era. I've read that he created Labyrinthian within the ruins of Bromjunaar to test new Archmages-"

"Yes, yes, Castiel," Ancano impatiently interrupts. "Our traveler has not come all the way from _Windhelm_ to hear you go on and on about some dead mage or another."

There is just something about the way Castiel's face becomes blank of emotions that makes Dean hate the Thalmor operative just a tiny bit more.

"I for one find Shalidor to be a source of inspiration," Dean half lies, his voice just a little bit louder than need be. "If more mages took after him, might be they'd help with the dragon situation instead of sitting on their asses doing naught."

It's already too late when it occurs to him his words might offend the Arch-Mage. Thankfully, Savos just laughs. "You finally found your match, my good elf." Ancano tries to smirk as if he took the comment as a jest - the twitch to his eyebrow suggests otherwise.

_I said something right, though_. There is a force tugging on Castiel's lips just before he turns his back on them. Dean's eyes follow the mage as he starts preparing a potion in the alchemy lab by the corner.

The gods must be dead, Dean fears, when Ancano decides to tell him all about his impressions of Skyrim and the College. "I'm disappointed to say I've learned little during my time here." The elf gives a theatrical sigh to represent his 'disappointment'.

_By Talos, even his white hair pisses me off._ Dean can't imagine how Savos puts up with him.

"Will you be learning a bit of our craft whilst you're here?" the Arch-Mage asks him pleasantly to make up for his advisor.

"If I could learn by association that would be most wonderful."

They laugh – minus Ancano – and Dean believes he hears a chuckle from Castiel's direction.

"I hope you have a pleasant time with us," Savos toasts, downing his wine.

_Yeah, I'll have a great time amongst powerful wizards I don't trust._

*º*º*

"Castiel," Dean calls out from the top of the stairs. The mage stops and waits for him to catch up. "Have you dined yet?"

"I'm on my way to the shared dining room in the students' tower."

"I'm still hungry myself." Dean smiles but the mage is looking at the ground again. "Let's share some mead, Cas. May I call you Cas?"

He stops to think, as if it takes effort to figure out 'Cas' is a diminutive of his name. _Does no one call him that?_ "Yes. And I prefer water," he adds. "If something attacks Winterhold, one must be fast."

Dean snorts with amusement. "The chances of two dragon attacks in the same month, let alone the same day, are pretty slim."

"Not here they aren't."

They walk side by side to the tower of the students' quarters. There are many rooms and no doors, Dean notices with surprise. One could see everything inside a room, from the items on the desks to the beds and the closets.

Cas takes him to a room with a dining table and a hearth. No one else is about at this hour, and there is still plenty of food to be had – Dean doesn't know which one he's most grateful for.

"How do you like the College?" the mage asks him politely as they sit.

Dean shrugs. "I expected bigger."

"We have the space we need for the practice of magic and incantations."

Dean studies his profile whilst they talk. He had not realized before that Castiel's nose looks very proportional to his face, making it more attractive to behold when looked at from a side view.

Attractive. Yes, Dean supposes the man is attractive. In a very shy, self-esteem lacking, don't-really-look-at-myself-in-the-mirror sort of way. _Is that even a compliment_, Dean wonders, _to say 'congratulations, your nose is very proportional'?_

He decides to slow down on the wine.

Sam would be subtle. Dean is not Sam - he doesn't dance around the subject. "Wanna tell me how you got so good at Conjuration Magic?"

"Winterhold likes us little." _So does the rest of Skyrim_, Dean thinks, thought he remains silent. "Our presence in the village is only welcomed as it is essential for its survival. Before it was only the frost trolls. But since the dragons rose from their graves, the guards have been unable to hold the village on their own."

"Hm, aye." Dean nods in understanding. "So the College helps them from afar. Is Conjuration your school of preference?"

"No." Cas offers him the last bread on the table. "I believe Restoration is more fun, but my Destruction magic is more powerful. I've been told my Incantations aren't half bad either."

Dean starts to understand why he feels a bit of a pull towards this man. The mage speaks without pretention, and Dean appreciates that in talented people. His nice eyes don't hurt either.

His mother used to say a wizard adept at various schools of magic was good luck, especially one who could heal and ease pain. The townsfolk even allowed travelers wearing the profession's garbs to sleep beneath their roofs. Dean himself grew up dreaming some such wizard would save them from the war.

Reality is not so kind, however. He and his brother soon learned that wizards are also necromancers - body violators - and warlocks who harvest human souls in gems to be used in incantations. He can't even remember _which_ war he had prayed to be saved from.

_One war ended, another began right after._

"So you tried your hand at everything." Dean studies him eating for a few more moments. "Conjuring _two_ Atronach from a distance. That's not something I see everyday…"

Dean himself could only conjure a weak Flame Atronach that could fight for half a minute and then puff out of existence. Sam likes to call it 'Candle' due to how easily its faint fire could be extinguished.

Castiel looks a little troubled, like he's not sure how to answer a compliment. "The mages you have met cannot?"

Dean shakes his head. "No, although Ancano would have us believe every Altmer wizard does it in their sleep."

He winces slightly. "I'm afraid there isn't much I can do about him." He sips the wine Dean poured for him. "The Thalmor sent him to oversee our activities."

This time it's Cas who studies him. Dean can almost feel the mage's eyes searching his face. They seem to linger a moment on his lips before returning to the table.

"He doesn't like you either," Cas points out.

"He mistrusts what I am," he agrees. "Do you know? What I am, I mean."

Castiel's face look a little flushed, like a child who saw something they weren't supposed to. Or maybe Dean is already on his third cup of wine. "That dragon's soul went inside your body, and its flesh dissolved away like mist."

_Ah, Sam would like those words…_ "That tends to happen, yes."

The mage swallows the content of his cup before he says, "I heard much about you, _Dovahkiin_."

"'Dean' is just fine, thanks."

That's what it always comes down to, in the end. Dean had been a thief, a liar, and an oathbreaker as much as he's now a brother, a hunter, a Companion, and a hero, and none of it mattered, for it all came back to _Dovah Sos_, the Dragon blood.

"It is said the Dragonborn is destined to kill Alduin." Castiel's already deep voice becomes gradually rougher from the wine. Dean finds himself enjoying listening to it.

"It's also said the nightingale flower has aphrodisiac properties, but all I felt was an ache in my throat." _Pff, I used to be funny…_

The other man is ever so serious. "The College can teach you magic to defeat the World Eater."

He shrugs. "Don't feel like it right now. Not much of a magic man myself, although I do enjoy a wizard's bed on cold nights much like this one."

Dean has never bedded a wizard before, but the flush creeping onto Castiel's face is exactly the reaction he hoped for. The mage doesn't have a flirtation or a jest of his own, though, seeing as he drags the conversation back to the heavy subject, even when given a way out.

"Do you fear him?" The question is not meant to offend, but the tone of sympathy in his voice certainly does.

"Alduin fears _me_," he says before he can stop himself - he and Sam had agreed not to talk about this with strangers. "All I have done for the last couple of years is search for the bastard. I slay his kin, and he does nothing. I still don't know why dragons are being brought back to life, why now, how to summon Alduin, how to kill him…"

_Why me…_

Castiel's face is blank of emotions once again. "I am sorry if I have offended you, sir."

"I'm no sir, Castiel." He rests a hand on his arm so he won't get up. "Call me _Dean_. Can you say 'Dean'?"

The mage looks at him again. The fire in the hearth casts a red light on Castiel's eyes, and Dean's breath catches in his throat.

Cas' eyes are blue, he's certain now. Sky blue in a circle of a darker blue with little green spots here and there.

"Dean."

*º*º*

The next morning, Dean finds his new friend arranging ingredients in an alchemy room.

"Whilst the librarian translates my manuscript, I have decided to make myself useful and bring good Savos a pair of Ice Wraith teeth for his potions," Dean tries to say it casually, but it sounds as rehearsed as it had been half an hour before when he first tried it in front of a mirror.

Castiel nods. "Fire magic should kill it quickly."

"Aye, if I can see where I'm supposed to cast it." Ice Wraiths are elemental spirits, and their ice bodies are nearly invisible on white backgrounds. "Don't have too much magic for spells, though."

That makes the mage look at him. "You can Shout fire," he points out.

"It takes me a long time to recharge between Shouts." Which is true. This is more information he had agreed with Sam not to disclose. The night before he could blame it on the wine. What is his excuse now, he wonders. "I would also appreciate your company."

Cas doesn't quite smile, but his face looks lighter. "You shall have it then."

Walking down the cliff behind Winterhold - beneath the College - takes them almost an hour. Dean doesn't even want to think of the way back up. They reach the water's edge and begin walking close to it, being extra careful not to step on the nearly frozen water. The day is grey, the sky is white, and Dean can't stand the cold, but Cas is walking beside him, and that was the purpose of this little endeavor.

Dean finds a path of frozen ice leading to a little isle and decides that will do. "If you're to walk with me, you can only step where I step."

Cas looks at him with a bit of amusement. "Why?"

He shrugs. "It's a simple game. Some people have serious problems playing it, and I want to see if you're one of them."

The mage crosses his arms. Dean thinks he probably wants to see where this is going. "Very well."

Dean chooses carefully where to put his feet and plant his weight and looks behind himself to watch Castiel imitating him.

"Which fires spells are you familiar with?" he casually asks. He started making a list of Cas' abilities in his head this morning, since this idea first came to him.

"I can create flames and fireballs and a flame cloak that will last you a minute," the mage says slowly, trying not to lose his concentration. "I can also create a wall of flames, but beware that my magic will be drained for at least an hour."

Sam once claimed he saw a wizard cast a wall of fire all around himself and anyone who dared pass through it was set aflame. He can feel his throat getting dry. _This keeps getting better._

They walk in silence for a moment, and Dean doesn't know what else to ask without sounding like he's snooping. "I have never bedded a wizard," he confesses, staring at the path ahead. He hopes the admission is not _too_ out of place as it seems to him. "I was just jesting. The ale got to my head."

"My opinion of you would not change if you had." Cas is sincere even if his voice is a bit strained.

"Still, it's discourteous to boast of conquests."

"Is it?"

"Aye," Dean confirms. He chooses his words carefully now. "Wasn't that why… why you didn't answer my jest with one of your own?"

Castiel holds him by the arm before Dean can take another step. "This ice is too thin. It'd be wiser to follow a different path or else the ice will break beneath your feet."

_Ah, and what a pretty way to tell me to either change the subject or shut up._

*º*º*

"Have you made any progress with Shalidor's work?"

At least Urag has the decency to look at him this time. "I only just got my hands on it. I can only work so fast."

"Take your time."

Dean turns to leave when dark hair and faded dark blue robes catch his eyes. He's not surprised a shy yet skilled man like Castiel would spend his time in the Arcanaeum.

That morning they came back not with a pair of Ice Wraith teeth but with a supply that should keep the Arch-Mage busy for a good fortnight. For hours they hunted and talked, until Dean told him about _Sam_ and their house in Whiterun. At the time, he had meant to make Castiel trust him and share information of his own. He hadn't even realized the magnitude of the secrets he was spilling.

Castiel told him things too. "My parents were wizards. They died when I was too young to remember. Arch-Mage Savos practically raised me." A horker came at them with a vengeance and spared Dean from coming up with an answer or analyzing the mage's expression.

It came to a point where – _somehow_ - the man persuaded him into learning a fire spell.

Dean had been persuaded into magic, and no one had been naked. He doesn't even know what to make of that.

Castiel looks up from his book when Dean rests a hand on his shoulder. He likes to think the mage even smiles a little. Well, his _eyes_ smile, like Sam the Girl would say. "Let's dine together again, yes?"

"I thought perhaps you meant to dine with Colette Marence. I saw you two talking this afternoon." His voice betrays nothing of what he feels. Dean wishes it did.

"Talking was all there was to it. She's not the kind of person I'm usually interested in." _I'm sort of interested in you_, he should probably say. Perhaps not that forward, but maybe something that would carry on the message. Dean comes up with nothing, in the end. "She complained for 20 minutes about her research material 'going missing'."

Ancano is an asshole, and Dean could bet that's as far as his personality goes. J'zargo the Khajiit mage is the only one of his feline kind in the College, but he's also too arrogant to hold a conversation. The Master Wizard Mirabelle Ervine is quite beautiful but stern to the point Dean avoids passing in front of her bedchambers.

There are others too, passing by the main courtyard and visiting the Hall of the Elements to attend lecture… And none of them as interesting as a powerful young mage who shies away from intimate questions and somehow knows high levels of Restoration magic.

And the eyes help too. Can't forget about the pretty eyes.

"She misplaces it often and blames the other students for it," Cas confides in him as they leave the Arcanaeum. "Colette can be a bit paranoid. Some say she's pretty."

"Some, but not you?"

"I wouldn't know how to judge."

And there it is again. Eyes on the floor, when before they had been counting the freckles on Dean's cheek.

"What's that?" He points at the necklace coming out of Dean's pocket.

"Something I found in a cave." He hands it over to the mage. "Sam should be able to say what it does and how much it's worth."

Cas bites it.

"Increases the power of your Illusion magic." He hands it back. "As for the price… I've never been to a market, so I wouldn't know."

No. Even Sam would be dumbfounded by this… Whatever just happened. "How did you do that?"

"Practice." Cas shrugs. That's his default answer for the amazement in Dean's voice. "What?"

"Every time I find magic trinkets, it takes days to figure out what they do and how well they do it, or else some merchant will just make a fool out of me… And _you_ go around biting stuff…"

It is official. Dean has never met a wizard – a person – quite like this one.

*º*º*

"Are you done with the translation?"

Urag looks up from his document. "What does it look like I am doing?"

Before the interruption, Dean noticed how the orc would read from the document and then write on a blank scroll. "Translating?"

"If I am translating right now, do you _think_ I am done translating?"

Dean knows better than to return for the rest of the day.

*º*º*

On the fourth day, Dean marches into Castiel's room as if he lives there.

"Can you fight with a sword?" _Subtle, Dean_, his head-Sam says. In his defense, he didn't mean for it sound so straight-forward. After spending his morning thinking of a clever way of finding out this information after Castiel declined his invitation for a friendly spar, Dean found out Sam is definitely the clever brother.

Cas blinks at him from behind a huge spell tome. "Why would I need fighting with a sword?"

"An axe? A dagger, a bow?"

"I can _conjure_ a sword."

"But can you wield it?"

"The only steel I need to wield is a knife to cut my meat." Cas crosses his arms. "Why would a mage need anything other than a staff?"

Dean leans on the door frame. "Skyrim is a dangerous place…"

"Yes, but in the Mage's College everything is much the same. If a troll needs killing, a staff works just fine."

Defiant blue eyes stare right back at him this time instead of staying fixed on the floor. They look at one another, and Castiel will not break, will not reveal that he knows what's happening here. Sam always told him one day Dean would find someone who would make him work for it.

Dean smiles and leaves his friend to his magic.

"Excuse me?" Cas calls after him. "Why did you come into my quarters, ask me queer questions about swords and then just leave?"

"You looked busy. I suddenly realized I was intruding."

"Well…" Cas walks up to him. Eyes on the floor. Again. "I can take a break. What was your point?"

"I didn't have any," he lies. "I was just on my way to Winterhold. I want to see how my horse is faring."

"Very well," the mage says, fidgeting. "Shall I walk you to the door?"

"Would you like to go with me?"

For the first time since they met, Castiel seems fearful. "It's been an awful long time since I last visited the city."

City... Yes, Winterhold was once a powerful Hold, but the little conglomerate of houses could hardly be considered a village now, let alone a city.

_What would be his reaction to Whiterun…?_

"All the more reason to go."

They walk to the village, Dean afraid of the bridge, and Castiel afraid of something he won't voice.

The weird old man sitting on the inn's front steps greets him. "The dragon lad is back."

"I come to see my horse, sir."

His faces darkens when he see Castiel. "In the back." The mage walks closer to Dean, refusing to answer when asked if he was alright.

What passes for a stable in a city in shambles is nothing more than a destroyed house with part of the roof and some of the walls still intact. The horses have food and water, though, so he can't exactly complain.

Cas looks fearful of the animal, so Dean takes his hand and rests it on the horse's snout. He needs his new friend to get used to it if he wants this to work. The mage carefully pets it. "You have a good horse, Dean."

"How do you know?"

"It hasn't tried to bite me yet."

Laughter comes out of him before Dean can even think about why he's laughing. "You know how to ride?"

"The older mages have research in Saarthal, an ancient tomb half a day from here," he says, caressing the mane. "I visited there a few times, and the horse even went the direction I wanted… the general direction…" Dean laughs again, and this time Cas even smiles. "J'zargo insisted I needed to squeeze the horse with my knees if I wanted speed, but I was afraid to hurt it."

Dean can picture in his head the comical image of Castiel trying to talk his horse into obeying him.

"Does it have a name?"

"It's bad luck to name a horse before you spend six moon cycles with it," Dean repeats what an old master-of-stable once told him. "I've only had this one for two cycles." He had been young and laughed in the man's face, promptly naming his new horse 'Frosty'.

In Skyrim, horses don't stand idly by when their masters are being attacked. Frosty died for him not two months later, and it broke his heart.

Castiel's eyes grow large. "Don't name him yet!" he shouts, like Dean meant to put a dagger in his own horse.

_No, seriously, you need to stop finding this endearing, Dean…_

*º*º*

"Some mouths would have me believe you have a mind to take young Castiel from under my care," is the first thing the Arch-Mage says when Dean sits across from him.

"I have voiced no such-" Savos raises an eyebrow, and Dean remembers when they first met. _Red_ _eyes that can see through you._ "I haven't spoken with him yet. Nor told anyone, for that matter. Who told you?"

"Anyone with eyes to see and ears to hear."

Dean can feel his face growing red. Has he really been that obvious? "Cas is very talented, you see. He- he can judge the incantation on a trinket by biting it!"

"I always liked that trick of his," Savos agrees, taking a sip of mead.

"You know my quest, my burden. A wizard of his proficiency would certainly help to lighten it."

"Is that so?"

"And," Dean mumbles, looking around the room. "And he can conjure two Atronach from a distance. That is powerful magic if I've ever seen it."

Savos smiles behind his cup. "_Is_ _that so_?"

"I'm sorry, Arch-Mage?" Dean is starting to feel nervous here. "Does this amuse you for some reason?"

"Indeed it does. Is it not customary for those searching for marriage to wear the Amulet of Mara around their necks? To make intentions known?"

He might as well have said the Emperor was outside anxious to make love to him.

"I- what?"

Savos pours more mead for them. "I saw the two of you from the bridge, slaying Ice Wraiths. Is that what passes for flirting these days? In my time there were flowers and lemon cakes-"

"_No_, wait-" It is not uncommon for men to marry each other and yet his brain refuses to combine 'marriage' and 'Castiel' in the same sentence. _Look on the bright side, at least Ancano isn't here_. "No one said anything about marrying."

"Oh, people don't get married in Skyrim anymore? I need to get out more often."

"Cas is a friend-"

Savos looks less amused hearing this. He pins Dean down with a disapproving stare. "Do you deny harboring feelings for him?"

Dean can feel something stuck in his throat. "You mistake intention-"

"_You_ mistake your own intentions, young _Dovahkiin_." The Arch-Mage puts aside his cup, and Dean actually feels afraid of what he's about to hear. "This is not a whore or a hired sword that will keep on walking after you're done with them.

"This young man has known nothing but these walls his entire life. He understands nothing of Skyrim and death and war and yet you will drag him into the chaos of your life on a whim, and you _dare_, _sir_, to fake innocence of intentions, as if I am some cretin in a tavern to be fooled and stolen from."

Savos gets up so suddenly Dean's hand immediately goes to the hilt of his sword before remembering he left it in his room.

The Arch-Mage hands him a pile of papers and one last warning before leaving, "If you take Castiel, you _will_ respect him."

*º*º*

"Is that-"

"'Shalidor's Insights', translated." Dean hands the scrolls to his friend. "These copies are mine, but I think you will appreciate them more than I did, so… you can have them."

Cas seems at a loss for words. "You're disappointed."

"I expected a few answers, yes." He sits on the bed uninvited. Dean knows he's welcome in this room. "Don't know why I thought Shalidor would have them, though. He didn't know anything about any dragons."

The mage sounds as disappointed as he feels. "Then your journey here was for naught."

"Not for naught, no." He gives the mage a meaningful look. "My brother says nothing is in vain. Sam has pretty, wise words for every situation. You'd like him."

Castiel nods politely. Eyes on the floor. Silence all around them.

_You know what I'm implying! _Must_ you make me say everything?_

_No_, his head-Sam says_, if you want something from this one, you ask_. _He'll follow _you_, Dean, not unspoken words and wind._

He starts by saying, "I'll kill Alduin." Yes, that's a good start. Saying it aloud always gives him strength. "I only need to find out how. The gods favored me with _Dovah Sos_, the Dragon blood, yet they will not tell me how to kill him despite my prayers."

"There must be a way," Cas assures him. He takes a step forward as if to come to him, to comfort him. "The gods are not so cruel as to send Skyrim _Dovahkiin_ only to make him helpless."

Dean isn't so sure. "Me and Sam. For years we have been preparing for war," he slowly explains. "Every sword, all the armor, the gold. We're getting them so we can win.

"A book or a god or _someone_ out there knows how to kill the World Eater, and they will tell me. I'll be ready when it happens."

Taking strength from this, Dean gets up and rests a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You could work with me. I never do any dungeon crawling without a partner, and a wizard with mixed powers might be just what I need."

"Is this how you recruit followers?" Cas sounds different than his usual quiet self. "You see they can cast some magic, ask if they can wield a sword, and invite them to go off with you to die?"

_No, I pay them 500 gold._

"No one needs to die."

"Forgive me, but half your stories end with 'and then they died'."

_Frosty, his friend Lydia, Meeko the dog, all those sellswords whose names he barely remembers…_ "Sam survived."

"Sam quit," Castiel points out. "And a wise decision that was."

Dean doesn't let this comment get to him.

"I'm not unhappy here," the mage claims. Surely he must realize how defensive he sounds, Dean hopes.

"Didn't say you were."

"I'm content," he affirms again, as if saying the words will make them truth.

"Is 'content' another definition for 'bored'?" Dean rests both hands on his friend's shoulder and realizes he's a bit taller than the mage. "You have no family here."

Cas looks heartbroken. And handsome too, so close like this. "Arch-Mage Savos and Master Wizard Mirabelle are like parents to me."

"And yet you call them by their honoraries."

"As a sign of respect."

"As a sign that your relationship lacks intimacy. You're a student, and they're professors."

The mage removes the hands that were pulling him closer. Someplace else he would go to a window, but there are no windows here, nor doors, so Castiel goes to stand in front of the bed table. "They raised me."

"And now you have grown and stand on your own."

Leaving his first friend in years is not what he wants and yet he's afraid there isn't much choice in the matter. _If you don't come with me, we might never see each other again…_

"I could use a wizard in my quest," he tries once more. Castiel has not asked him to leave yet. "I could also use a friend, if you'd let me call you such."

Slowly he walks behind his friend and puts a cup in his hand. Cas murmurs a thank you as he sips the mead and tries to calm down.

Dean presses his lips behind Castiel's ear. "This short time we spent together… Did you not feel _something_? Anything at all, for me?"

He can feel the shiver that travels the mage's skin. "Magic is the only thing I have," is the only answer he gives.

"You can have more," he whispers, so low he almost can't hear himself. "Come with me."

"Stay," Castiel asks in return, looking at the wall.

"No." Dean kisses him once on the place where hair meets skin. "You know I can't."

Castiel stares into the honey wine in his cup, the fire burning in the hearth casting a faint light on the corner of a blue eye. Dean wonders if he's even thinking about his proposal or if his mind is again wandering off to someplace distant, like Dean imagines it does every night when silent falls upon them.

"When we're not traveling, you can come to Whiterun with me. My brother will appreciate having a wizard in the house, and we do have an extra bed."

An extra bed that had belonged to loyal Lydia, who had died fighting an outlaw when Dean had shouted for her to run.

"And what would I do in Whiterun?" Cas sounds even sadder than before. Dean thought offering him the perspective of having his own things might interest him more than the idea of going with him had.

"The extra room in my house has a door," he continues. "Wouldn't you like some more privacy?"

The mages sighs. "There is nothing I particularly want."

"Lying is unbecoming, Cas."

"I'm not lying."

"You think you're so boring, don't you?" Dean can feel the cold slipping inside his clothes. _Cas is not saying yes_. "You keep your eyes down and say things like, 'Oh, I can _only_ cast a million spells; I'm not that good'. You were made for this, Castiel. For me and my cause.

"I too know what it's like to hold power and be shunned for it. It's so much responsibility, isn't it? You want to rest, yet here come the dragons or the outlaws or one war faction or another, and you have to do _something_. And after you do it, people don't thank you – they become afraid of you.

"Sam tells me they have a song for the Dragonborn. You come with me, and one day they'll have a song for you too. They'll call you 'Castiel of the Mage's College' or 'Castiel the Wizard of All Trades'…"

Cas can only blink. "... That just sounds weird."

"Yeah, you're right," Dean agrees. "We'll think of something."

*º*º*

In the end, they agree on nothing, and Dean goes back to his room empty and tired.

_Tomorrow I will leave more alone than when I came,_ he thinks. Life had been easier when it had been just his brother and him, riding the roads and killing Draugr.

_Cas is not coming_, Dean tells himself so it will feel more real. Maybe if he just accepts this and mourns for what didn't happen between them, he will cease feeling so sad sooner rather than later.

_Cas is not coming, and you won't see him again._ It will be hard, at first. He'll probably think about Cas all the way back to Whiterun. Sam will know without having to be told because he knows Dean that well. One day this year, Dean will spend the entire day without thinking of the wizard and will call it progress.

Maybe there will even be a woman, an inn worker somewhere, and she'll make him feel better. She'll tell him about her simple life and ask him if he's ever been in love. Dean will say there had been a wizard once, a handsome, lonely thing, but he couldn't remember his face anymore.

_Talos, I'm a maiden in a song who just lost her knight; kill me now…_

He finds this to be a lot of sorrow for someone he's not even in love with... And Dean knows he isn't in love because of the simple fact that romantic love is supposed to be amazing. Kings had waged wars for maidens, and most religions had not one but _two_ goddesses of love. Many times in his childhood he had heard his mother recite the goddess Dibella's commandment softly before sleep, _"Open your heart to the noble secrets of art and love. Treasure the gifts of friendship. Seek joy and inspiration in the mysteries of love."_

Dean cannot see what the mystery is. You have a boner for someone. If they like you, great; if they don't, better luck next time.

_Is that what this is? I wanted to bed him, and it didn't happen. Is that all?_

The sick feeling in his stomach tells him it isn't. His mother used to say the more he cares about someone the deeper their actions can please him or hurt him.

_If what you feel is god-awful, then your feelings for him probably run deeper than you think._

The wizard had not even tried to do anything to win his affections. He just looked at the floor and always poured wine for Dean first and told him about his childhood trying to catch little balls of light Savos sometimes created for him.

Since the second day, Dean decided to test his abilities, to see how far his courage went and how well he fared in dangerous situations. Sellswords know the risks and are willing to face the odds. A reclusive mage whose only idea of a battle was the one told in songs and books cannot say if they are ready to fight.

He wanted to be sure Cas was capable of having his back when he had to search for another Wall. He had this idea – this almost fantasy – of them riding together and fighting together and then laying together on Dean's bed in Whiterun after a long journey.

Dean is falling asleep with the image of his friend stretching and yawning on his bed when there is a noise by the non-door.

"If I can have my own room, it's a deal."

*º*º*

He can feel eyes watching their backs as they leave.

_Let them watch. I know my ass looks great._

Dean leaves Whiterun more fulfilled than he has been in a long time, with a friend by his side and an unhappy Arch-Mage in the castle he left behind… Even his purse is lighter than before. Turns out the old man had a really mean grudge against the wizards.

"That one isn't worth more than 1,000," Dean shouted when hearing the price he was being charged for a new horse.

"Well then, feel free to buy yourself a 1,000 gold pieces horse in Windhelm."

Dean could pay the price in a heartbeat. In fact, the moment they set foot in Windhelm, a merchant would perhaps pay thrice as much for the necklace in his backpack. Sure, Sam would be furious if he learned – and he would find out, the freak counts every last Septim they make. He could picture Sam whining, asking why he didn't just share his horse with the wizard.

But how could he say, how could Dean ever look his brother in the eye and say that Cas had kissed his new horse on the snout and told it, "You're mine now," and that Dean had known right away he wasn't going to 'be done' with the feeling that tied his heart into a knot?

The old man waited for his reply, impatient, and Dean looked back at the stables. Cas smiled for him, that faint little smile of his, completely unaware of how much Dean was investing in him. The night before, blue eyes had risen from the floor until they met his own – they seemed alight with blue fire when Dean had said he could have his own horse.

The very first thing Dean promised him.

"I'll have it."

Dean feels somehow responsible now. He remembers back to the first time he left his brother in Whiterun to search the world for treasure and knowledge. He came by a shaggy dog in the woods, happily wagging its tail and barking to his horse as if it trying to tell them something. Dean followed it back to a shack where he found a dead man.

The dog, Meeko – Dean found its name in the dead man's journal - was still happy, as if saying, "Let me introduce you to my owner."

Sam's eyes had actually been _wet_ when he told him.

"Are you going to feel responsible for everyone, now?" He had crossed his arms in disapproval. "Maybe you want to adopt the beggars in the Reach, or the Altmer refugees fleeing the Aldmeri Dominion too?"

Of course, Sam was petting the dog like a girl immediately following that speech, so Dean chose to ignore it.

Meeko died to protect him from an Overlord after Dean had screamed his lungs out trying to make the dog run away. After that, he decided to only take with him those who could consent to face the dangers of a _Dovahkiin_'s life. Castiel had consented last night, when Dean explained to him in detail what they were up against.

"You might grow sore in the first week," he tells Cas with sympathy as they ride. "Riding takes some getting used to."

The mage sounds brave when he says, "I don't mind." Dean is a bit proud. Brave Castiel, the only wizard who runs to Winterhold for the rescue, even when its people shun him. Might be that's what the songs will call him: 'Castiel the Brave Wizard'.

They stop by an empty cave's entrance for the night. This part of Skyrim makes for a torturous ride for first-time travelers, what with its snow and mountainous landscape.

"These mountains are dangerous. Have your magic ready."

"My magic is a part of me. It is always ready," Castiel answers, lower than usual.

The mage has been particularly quiet since they left, and Dean suspects he has never slept with nothing but fur to cover him. He asks all sorts of questions to try and keep his friend's mind away from the cold soil beneath them. "Do you know how to saddle a horse?", and "Do you know the differences between the different kinds of dragons?", or "Can you fire a bow?"

Castiel always answers with, "Can you teach me?" He is nothing if not a good student.

*º*º*

When Dean wakes up without familiar warmth pressed against his back, he knows something must be wrong.

"Cas?"

"Still here, Dean." In the darkness he can only just make out the shape of his friend sitting by his feet. "Just a nightmare."

The ground is hard and cold beneath him, and their fire went out sometime during the night, but at least it had ceased snowing for the moment. Their horses are asleep a few feet away in the edge of the woods. The low sound of the wind makes Dean wish that his friend would talk more often without the need of interrogation. "What about?"

"The College and Ancano."

Dean can sympathize. If he had spent years in the company of a Thalmor asshole, he too would have nightmares.

"Wanna talk about it?" He sits by his friend's side and wraps his furs around them both. Cas turns his head to him, and their breaths mingle for a moment before the mage looks back at the snowy landscape before them.

"There was a huge closed eye floating in the Hall of Elements. Ancano was trying to make it open, and Arch-Mage Savos told him not to."

Castiel's lips tighten in a line. Wind makes the trees dance for a moment. They can hear a wolf in the distance running over the fallen snow and going into the woods.

"And then bad shit happened?" Dean offers as a way to finish the conversation.

The mage pulls the furs – and consequently Dean – closer around him. "Yes."

This makes him uneasy. Some said that for every hundred nonsensical dreams about man-eating rabbits, there is one full of symbolic wisdom of a future to come.

Sam had said he dreamed of a serpent made of blood and fire just before the dragons came back to life. "You feel like this is no mere dream?"

Castiel doesn't answer, nor does he have to.

Dean doesn't want to suggest they turn back for fear his friend might actually say he wants to stay this time. "We can write him a letter once we get to Windhelm, perhaps?"

He shrugs. "We will. The Arch-Mage is already very cautious of Ancano. That's why he keeps him so close."

Interesting. This Arch-Mage is smarter than Dean gave him credit for.

They lie down. Dean has a feeling his partner won't be sleeping again tonight. He can't figure out what an eye could possibly mean in the context of a dream. Maybe the truth? Is Ancano prying into something he isn't supposed to? He decides to ask Sam once they get home.

He wonders what Savos will make of a letter about floating eyes and evil advisors. If the Thalmor operative proves himself to be a menace, Dean is glad he took Castiel away before he tried anything. Dragons they can handle any day, but Dean has learned that real danger comes in the hour of the owl, when the world is asleep and those who called themselves allies stand in darkness, waiting.

_Yes_, he decides. It's a good thing Castiel is here. After all, there are no doors in the rooms of the Mage's College.

*º*º*

On their fifth day of journey, Dean declares they are no longer going to Windhelm.

"Windhelm would just slow us down," he assures the wizard. "If we go west straight away, we'll be in Whiterun in no time."

"If you're sure."

Dean feels something good inside him at how his friend quickly agrees, no arguments and no questions.

Dean can always see the signs of exhaustion in a warrior too proud to voice his pains, and these signs have been showing all over Castiel for the past couple of days – from his silence to the way his back now curves forward, as if it can't help but bend under his weight.

_Our hero, ladies and gentlemen. A man too stupid to figure out that someone who spent their entire lives secluded in a castle will have problems riding throughout the day and sleeping on snow at night._

The Nightgate Inn was just a half day away if they make haste. _If we work our horses to the ground, that is_. Once there, he would see their horses rested and Castiel fed with meat and bread and honey nut treats. Might be the innkeeper could even name them a cave with a bear or a mountain path with a sabre cat. Nothing too hard or far, just right so they could practice their dynamic as partners for a few hours a day whilst Cas regained his strength.

Dean almost doesn't recognize the inn when he opens its door. Once a lonely and sorrowful looking place, the large common room is now filled with merry people in different stages of drunkenness. Dean counts at least two bards playing and singing around the fire pit as 50 or 60 people dance around them.

The innkeeper himself looks flushed when he comes to greet them by the door.

"Pray forgive, lads. No more rooms left; the newlyweds and their friends took them all. They will be gone on the morrow though-"

"The gods bring you here to celebrate my marriage!" the drunken newlywed man shouts over the singing and the laughing, expelling wine everywhere as he tries to hug the newcomers. "You drink mead in my name, yes?"

Dean knows they can't turn back, not with exhausted horses and an even more strained first-time traveler.

"That we'll do, my friend," Dean finally shouts back, trying to sound just as excited.

An hour later, Dean has not yet figured out what the man's name is, but every time he finishes a cup of wine he shouts, "To the newlyweds!" Castiel usually follows raising a cup of his own and downing the rest of the wine in it.

"Is this what a wedding looks like?"

"No, their wedding already took place someplace else." Dean is still sober enough to remember marriages are carried out in the goddess Mara's name at her temple in Riften. "They're heading home now and making merry as they do it."

This sends his mind back to Savos and his little lecture. Dean suddenly realizes how close he's sitting to Castiel on the bench, their arms and thighs pressing together.

Maybe Cas really does deserve someone who will marry him. People all over the world become betrothed before they become intimate and many only after the actual marriage. Respect him, Savos had said. _Respect as in 'don't put your dick where it doesn't belong', right, Arch-Mage?_

He drinks two more cups to wash away the images that thought gave him.

Two more hours pass, and the meaning of the word 'sober' eludes Dean. "You see, the thing you gotta understand…The thing about-" he pauses and tries again. "The thing 'bout dungeon crawling…"

"Why do you call it that?"

"'Cause that's what it is." Dean shrugs. "You don't parade around inside a dungeon cave… place… thingy, let me tell you. You crawl in the shadows. Like a cat. A cat!"

"Cats don't crawl," Castiel decides after careful deliberation. "They just walk slowly."

"No," Dean denies. "Cats pounce fast."

"Pouncing is not walking."

Sometime later the singing stops and silence falls. Dean pushes his friend down on the floor by a wall and lies down next to him. No danger can get to him now, Dean thinks, proud of himself.

"You never told me where you're from," Cas accuses out of nowhere.

"Small village. I'll tell you some other time."

"Can we visit it?"

"I'm afraid it ain't there no more."

"_We can't say things like 'ain't' no more, Dean," Sam had begged him. "We gotta learn how to speak good, or else they won't let us see the Jarl."_

And Sam had learned. _By Talos, he speaks just like a little lord._ Now his brother makes armor and sword for the Jarl and the Companions and them rich folks living in the Cloud District. And none of them know he only learned how to read at the age of twenty-two.

Sam was made to live in court and talk about incantations with mages and poetry with bards.

Dean was made to be _Dovahkiin_. _Can't even drink some ale before my tongue gets loose._

A warm hand holds his own. "I'm sorry."

"I've to go into them caves now," he tells Cas as it suddenly occurs to him. He tries to count the fingers of the hand he's holding but soon learns he can't distinguish which fingers are his and which are Cas'. "There are words on the walls, and they make me stronger."

"You make _me_ stronger."

*º*º*

It's past midday when all the noisy guests leave. Dean finds his friend sitting by the lake with an exhausted face and wearing the same clothes from the previous night.

"The innkeeper is cleaning the rooms, shouldn't be long until we can have a bath and a bed." He sits by his side. "How do you feel? Really?"

"Like a dragon roasted my thighs," Castiel answers with a depressed sigh. "And crashed my head whilst he was at it."

Dean desperately tries not to think about his friend's thighs and their sensitive, soft skin all red from the riding.

"Can you heal it?"

"Not burns, no. Might be rubbing some oil will help?" the mage asks him.

Dean _desperately_ tries not to think of hands rubbing oil on said sensitive, soft thighs.

"I will ask the innkeeper later," Castiel decides.

Sunlight is already dying by the time they go back inside, after caring for their horses and exploring the woods around the inn. A handmaid shows them to their room and fetches a wooden tub and hot water.

Tasting an apple pie, Dean decides he likes this quiet, this dusk light, this small inn in the cold woods with Cas taking a hot bath like its not a big deal at all. He thinks of writing this in the letter he's composing to Sam, but then his brother will have _written_ proof of his feelings, and Dean will never survive.

He wants to write a few verses to himself about faint orange light making the water drops on Castiel's cheek become bright and alive, though his childish handwriting would just spoil the entire endeavor.

The light fades away all too soon. Next thing he knows, they are each on their own bed, and the low sound of teeth crashing together won't let him sleep. _This can't be good_. "You cold, Cas?"

"This morning I washed the furs you gave me, and they haven't dried yet." The mage sounds like he's in pain, and Dean is not liking this one bit.

He wants to invite the mage to his bed, though that would be presuming too much. "Why did you wash your furs?"

"I assumed we would be sleeping together," Castiel answers. Dean can see his shoulders shrug in the barely there moonlight. "Like we have been doing since we left Winterhold..."

Dean gets up and drops his heavy fur on top of the mage, climbing on the bed beside him. "_I_ assumed you'd like your own bed."

"I don't mind sharing." Castiel rearranges himself beside him and gives what Dean believes is a content sigh. He can feel his friend's hot breath on his neck and tries to will his body to relax.

It seems impossible with eyes staring at him in the dark. "... Go to sleep now."

"I'm trying." Cas sounds a bit guilty. He moves around a little and settles when their legs are touching. Dean thinks he smells of apple pie.

"Dean," the mage starts uncertainly, "why did you ask if I have feelings for you?"

"Because, Cas." He sighs. Of course they would have to talk about this eventually. "Because I wanted you to come with me."

"You kissed behind my ear," he tells Dean in a whisper. "I thought you were going to kiss me that night."

The blood flowing in his ears doesn't let him hear his own voice saying, "Would you like it if I kissed you?"

"I believe so," Cas confesses, a bit out of breath. Dean can feel the body beside him shaking just slightly, and he doesn't think it's from the cold. "I favor you over others, even though I've known you for less than a fortnight."

"That's- That's really-" Hands that have known no labor or hardship don't try to grab him, to force him, but tug on his sleeves weakly. It feels like an invisible force rolls him to Castiel's side. "I-"

Love is painful. It turns his insides and squeezes his heart. It makes him babble and look a fool. And it makes him kiss Castiel tenderly on the lips as he lies down on top of him. Warm hands cup his face, and he can't remember any reservations he had about this, about this amazing person breathing under him.

Beneath the furs, it feels like a furnace, and Cas is the fire that keeps it going. He wants to take their clothes off, but there is no room, no time. Just by letting Dean's hands rub and squeeze and caress his body, mouth completely surrendering to whatever he desires, it's already enough to make him burn. When he allows a pause to enjoy the sight of feverish blue eyes, Cas kisses him back clumsily; Dean takes all his kisses, for they are all for him.

Dean unlaces their breeches and waits to see if there are any objections. All he gets is hands grabbing his clothes tighter, pulling him down for more kisses and more touching.

He grabs the oil on the nightstand that Cas used for his burns and coats his hands with no finesse. He's careful to spread as much as he can on the abused thighs – _Talos, I thought of this_ – or else he might make them worse, before he takes him in his hands.

Castiel whimpers like a wounded animal and hides his face in the crook of his neck. Dean gives him long, satisfying strokes, but only enough to fuel his own desire to see Cas holding on to him like this. His fingers caress the red thighs again and start traveling up.

"Wha' are you do-" Cas manages to whisper when a finger touches him so intimately.

"This is how men make love, Cas," Dean assures him, trying to comfort him with more kisses to his neck. The mage relaxes – because if Dean says this is how, then he'll just trust him – and Dean realizes he can't lose someone this perfect.

He does his best to make this amazing for him, the best he can do when he can't remember his own name, whilst Cas moans lowly on his shoulder at the feeling of fingers caressing him.

Like in a dream, Dean is suddenly inside, supporting his own weight with both arms beside his lover's head and watching as his face goes from pleased to blissed out. Dean can only move on instinct as Cas just lies there taking him, like his mind has completely shut down, and he's trusting Dean to pleasure them both.

"Tight," he says with a gasp of his own because his lover needs to know this; he needs to know how incredible he is for Dean. "You're so tight, Cas-"

Castiel responds by moaning louder, and that's just about right. Long legs encircle him, changing the way they meet, and Castiel is throwing his head back and laughing in euphoria.

Dean laughs with surprise at this reaction. "There? There-" This is just how it should be. Cas should always look like this and Dean should always be the one taking his breathless kisses. He doesn't remember it ever being this satisfying to hold someone, to make their pleasure his own.

He doesn't mean to finish inside, but Cas won't let him move away an inch further than he has to to give them pleasure. Dean begs him to come or else he will soon have to apologize for ending this too early, but his ever obedient lover does just as he's told. If the sight of Castiel obeying his command to orgasm hadn't done it for him, his insides squeezing tightly around him certainly would have.

The world is gorgeous and white and so very 'Cas', and then he's back. For the first time in his life, Dean doesn't get up and walk away. Castiel doesn't become a sweaty, messy body; he remains a lover, someone to be cherished and taken care of.

He moves aside just enough to give him room to breathe but refuses to stop kissing his cheek as he watches the mage come back from wherever it is Dean sent him.

When Castiel opens his eyes, there is only joy and adoration looking at him, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief he didn't notice he was holding.

"How did you do that?" Cas asks, out of breath. His voice is rougher than usual and his hands a little shaky - Dean wouldn't have this any other way, even if now he has to explain how their love making works. Of course he doesn't know. How could he?

"It's magic," he decides to say to spare the moment. Maybe he will show him in the morrow, but right now Castiel actually nods seriously, and Dean has to kiss his brow again.

Their fur smells of Cas and what they just did when Dean decides. "I'll respect you, Cas."

_Now the poor guy probably thinks this is what passes for pillow talk._ "I respect you too, Dean," he says pleasantly.

"You don't understand…"

"If you don't explain, maybe I won't."

"The Arch-Mage said I could have you as long I respect you, so I just…" He kisses Castiel on the nose because he can. "I'm gonna respect you, Cas."

"Dean, did you drink during dinner?" Cas asks and tucks his head in the crook of his neck again, getting ready to sleep as if they did this every night.

Hearing his mage fall asleep, Dean has an epiphany, or an insight, or just wishful thinking, but he has it – they are going to win, the three of them. The gods gave him the powers, the tools, the allies, and even his reward in advance. There is just no way he can fail.

Might be they would have a new song for the Dragonborn after he defeated Alduin, and Sam the Smith and Castiel the Wizard would be in it too. Might be he could even ask a bard to write a few lines about faint orange light on his lover's skin.

*º*º*

The cave is close to the inn, with only a few trolls inside. Castiel gives one last kiss to his unnamed horse, and Dean remembers the letter he wrote his brother when they left Winterhold.

_I just have a good feeling about this one, Sam._

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"If I say run, _just_ fucking run, okay?"

"As you say."

*º*º*

_Did you guys know that in the expansion, "Hearthfire", you can actually make your own house and adopt children?_

_Adopt._

_Children._

_YES._

_If only they would release this expansion for the PS3…_

_Anyways, I didn't want to take the plot with the Mage's College too far for fear of spoilers. I was also careful not to mention too many plot points from the main storyline of the game and focused more on the romance._

_I'm currently writing a sequel where Team Dovahkiin embarks on the main story line, if people are interested in reading it._

_Thank you, Kenshymidzu, for the art (go to my LJ to see it)! And thank you, Kodamasama, for betaing this story!_

_As always, please comment! It makes me unbelievably happy!_


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